The Hundred Things
by mische
Summary: Messy collection of drabbles and vignettes, pieces of moments from the Marauder era, mainly focusing on Lily and James. Response to FanFic100 challenge.
1. 016 Purple

**The Hundred Things: Purple**

_(Theme 016)_

**Disclaimer:** I own fuzzy slippers! But not _Harry Potter_ or anything associated. Fuzzy slippers!

**A/N:** Urgh. I feel weird about this piece, but it's just a drabble, so what the heck; I'm posting it. It's been at UnknowableRoom for some time. First response to Fanfic100 LJ Challenge. Please review; I would love suggestions on how to make this better, or any drabble-writing.

It was supposed to be purple by now.

"Two more minutes!"

On a good day, and even on not-so-good days, this class usually managed to brighten my spirits. Aside from being one of Slughorn's favorites (there's really no denying it), potion-making usually came naturally to me.

I just _couldn't_ concentrate today. I didn't even want to think about why…

My hand was gripping the stick so tight that my knuckles were turning white. I continued to stir counterclockwise, apparently to no avail. My potion splashed dangerously close to the cauldron edge; I was stirring so fast.

Stupid potion. _Why_ won't you turn lighter?

"It's supposed to be lilac by now, y'know."

I gritted my teeth at the voice. There was no mistaking _that_ voice.

The annoying voice that pestered me to no end. The voice that posed the ever-present offer of supposedly the best Hogsmeade experience I'll ever have. The voice that shouted flattery at me from the other end of the corridor. The v—

"Time's almost up…"

—oice that…

My passionate stirring slowed a bit at what that voice had said today. Or rather, what I had overheard the voice say today.

"_So anyways, what's up with you and Evans?"_

_It was Black, down in the common room, no doubt talking to Potter._

_I paused in my step, walking down from the girls' dormitories, suddenly seized with an unusual interest in his answer._

_A pause. "Not much, I guess…Why?"_

"_You haven't been going on and on about her like you usually do."_

_Loud sighing, probably followed by the running of a hand through hair, though I couldn't see him. "I—I just really don't know. There's not much left for me to do, I guess. I've asked her, nicely, to Hogsmeade this weekend, but of course she said no. I haven't been bugging her at all, I haven't been a prat, I haven't—I just don't know anymore."_

"_Just go with that Parker girl! She's been bugging you for ages."_

"_I know. I don't want her though. I only want Lily. You know how it is."_

_The portrait hole opened, the two boys climbed out, and their voices were cut off as the door shut. I stood still, on the seventh step of the staircase, unable to figure out why his words had affected me so much._

"_I only want Lily."_

The words echoed in my head now, bouncing around in my brain, as much as I tried to concentrate on the potion.

I involuntarily glanced over at Potter's cauldron. The potion didn't look so lilac-y itself. Hah.

I looked up at his face, and his faraway eyes were on me, and looked as if they had been on me for a while. His hand was stirring absentmindedly.

I caught his gaze; he blinked and gave a lazy half-smile.

…"_I only want Lily."_

The heat was creeping up from my neck, and I looked away.

…"_I only want Lily."_

"Stop!" Professor Slughorn called.

I threw my hands up in surrender.

It was supposed to be purple by now, anyway.

_**Finis**_

.mische.


	2. 095 New Year

**The Hundred Things: New Year**

_Theme 095_

**Disclaimer:** (n.) 1. (law) A voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something; 2. Denial of any connection with or knowledge of; 3. My humble acknowledgment of J.K. Rowling's brilliance and ownership.

"So, any new year's resolutions? Get over Evans?"

A laugh, and I lazily hurl a worn pillow at Sirius. I'm hanging over the edge of my bed, upside-down, the blood rushing to my face.

Of course, it's because I'm hanging upside down.

He catches the pillow with ease and squashes it in his arms.

"Seriously?" I ask after a pause.

"Seriously." His face is straight.

My eyes roll, almost involuntarily, then don't quite return to meet his. "Same every year, isn't it?"

I see him shrugging out of the corner of my eye. "Is this year like the others?"

Is it?

"Or do you mean next year?" I return, obviously evading the question.

Too much blood is going to my head. I roll over and stare at the ceiling.

"You know what I mean. This school year."

Noncommittal grunt. Then, stalling, "Just because I'm Head Boy, and she's Head Girl, and that we work together—"

"Didn't—or doesn't change a thing?" Sirius cuts in. He's amused.

I let out a long sigh. "I didn't say that."

"You were thinking of saying it."

It seems we always have these types of conversations.

"It did change, you know it did."

"Yeah."

_**Finis**_

**A/N:** Well that was most definitely the most broken and fragmented thing I've ever written. I'm quite pleased about the 200-word part though! Gives a sense of completeness, which is lacking in this story (if you can even call it one). Drop a review if you please, all suggestions and commentary appreciated.

.mische.


	3. 021 Friends

**The Hundred Things: Friends**

_Theme 021_

**Disclaimer:** Hum, still don't own it.

I like to think that we're friends.

I like to think that when she laughs, it's with me, not at me. That she's laughing because our latest prank is funny, not cruel, not heartless. That my quip was cleverly humorous, maybe not even clever. Just humorous.

I like to think that when she smacks my arm away from her pile of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, she's hiding a smile behind that thick red hair. That the smack is playful, not one that will leave a blushy handprint. That her sharp retort means nothing but silliness, and that she'll let me take the flavors she makes a face at.

I like to think that when she rolls her eyes or sighs one of _those_ sighs, it's out of some familiar, unbreakable habit. That she's just doing it because she has accepted me and my antics, my off-topic comments, my jokes, (and of course, my ever so debonair nature). That she's not about to blow up and tell me off.

I like to think that when she agrees to one of my ideas, it's because she really does see that I'm trying my best to be all that being Head Boy demands. That my idea is genuinely interesting and appealing, and not because it's a submission, a surrender.

I like to think that she writes back the notes I toss her way because she wants to pass notes with me. That she wants to whine with me about how boring History of Magic really is, and not because she feels like she has no other choice but to write.

I like to think that she sits by me at meals because it's something friends do. That she is voluntarily choosing to eat with me, and not because there's an endless amount of Head business to discuss.

But as much as I like to think we're friends…

I want to know that we are.

**_Finis_**

**A/N: **Blah. That felt weird, and totally unintelligible. I can't seem to get my ideas across, or down on the paper (or onto the screen). Wahoo for drabbles that don't make sense! Any critique? I'd love.

.mische.


	4. 025 Strangers

**The Hundred Things: Strangers**

_Theme 025_

**Disclaimer:** I disclaim ownership of James Potter (sigh) and Lily Evans.

If James Potter could have just one wish at this moment, he would wish for a stranger.

He stood by the Lake and stared, hard, at the glassy, glossy water that twinned its surroundings: two moons, two skies, two grassy hills, two giant oak trees, and two James Potters. The air was still and cool, an autumn breath wrapping itself around the lone figure.

He'd escaped in his invisibility cloak. A very handy-dandy thing to keep around. Too bad it wasn't handy-dandy enough to vanish his problems. Or mainly, just one problem:

Lily Evans.

James grimaced at the thought of her, or rather at the thought of himself around her. A calloused hand kneaded the back of his neck familiarly, and he tore his eyes away from the crystalline surface before looking to the sky. The clouds were a milky gray, starkly contrasting with the thick indigo vastness, and they seemed to look down pityingly.

Maybe they could offer what he wanted most right now, a stranger. A stranger to maybe listen to him holler his frustrations, to maybe offer an understanding word or two, to maybe even just stand beside him and wordlessly watch the reflections in the lake as shadows grew clearer and the crescent of a pearl rose higher. A stranger, perhaps above all, just maybe to be someone who didn't know, didn't care, just was. To have a stranger just be there. Because those were the best kind of strangers, of course. Who didn't judge, didn't know, didn't care. Those strangers would listen, then forget.

But, no. He would remember.

All James actually wanted right now was just a receiving end, either to his ranting and raving or to his silence, be it stranger or friend or foe.

Yes, that's what he wanted.

An unusual satisfaction washed over him, and he pulled the invisibility cloak over himself and headed back to the castle.

_**Finis**_

**A/N:** I, for one, liked this. Don't quite know why. I think we all feel like we need a stranger sometimes. Anyhoo, reviews would be very much appreciated!

.mische.


End file.
